


The Devil's Golden Coin

by Ejnox



Category: Original Work
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Christian Mythology, Cults, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, Demons, Devils, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Grimdark, Historical Fantasy, Lesbian Character, London, Magic, Monster Hunters, Monsters, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, Plot, Short Stories, Supernatural Elements, Trolls, Vampires, Victorian, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 18:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejnox/pseuds/Ejnox
Summary: "The generally known principle reads that hunters are always in a desperate need of money."The group led by Jacob Harington is a peculiar bunch. An ex-soldier, used-to-be-highwayman, ambitious adventurer and a family outcast together form one of the best - and probably one of the most expensive - team of monster hunters in the entire England, fueled by one simple goal: money. They find their morality challenged, their sins dawning at them and their past haunting them; especially after crossing paths with yet another excellent hunter going by the name Micher Dickens.The collection will, in it's final state, have 9 shortstories (with a prologue and an epilogue) - each about 16.000 words long, being linked by the characters and overarching plot. Stay tuned!





	1. Prologue - The Inner Beast

Sir Arthur Woodenworth enjoyed balls, banquets and other affairs of such sort greatly. And why wouldn't he? He was a person of a massive importance, so, naturally, he went to events where other people of similar importance were invited. He relished himself in hours-long conversations with the most brilliant minds of London, food prepared by the finest chefs on this side of Thames, gorgeous ladies he would openly flirt with and games he played with children of the other guests. He always wore his best clothes, had his hair stylized and his moustache trimmed and took a bath two hours prior. And people loved him! He was funny and charming, and yet quite smart and canny. He could keep up in conversations about stock exchange with bankers, at the same time winning discussions about militaries with generals. He would often win applause for the best dance, bed the woman he had danced with, and still have time to find another charming lady to make love with before midnight. He truly lived for these nights.

So why did he feel so off, then?

He was asking himself that question all night, but couldn't quite grasp the answer. He lost a discussion about types of wine, blew his chance to undress a young lady, and even tripped while dancing. He just couldn't focus. The feeling of being watched, and a strange sense of immediate danger has tied around his neck like a noose and were only getting tighter and tighter as the night went by. It all started when he noticed that weird girl staring at him from the other side of the room. She was nothing like people around her. Her ginger hair was cut short, her eyes full of determination, she was wearing pants, for God's sake! A woman! Pants! The worst part was, she wasn't looking at him the way women usually look at him – that is, with lust and naivety. No, her look was cold and heavy as steal, heartless, but narrow. Like a doctor examining a patient.

Later he noticed another person like this – a man, this time – who clearly stood out. His jacket was dirty and full of holes, his long, blond hair greasy, fingernails dirty. He wasn't looking directly at him, but when Arthur turned his back on the young man, he could clearly feel his eyes drilling holes in the back of his skull. That moment he realized he was being watched.

But it all reached its peak around midnight. Arthur was trying to mind his own business, talking to a young daughter of a wealthy merchant, when he felt an urge to run as sudden as powerful as a lightning strike, and a second later someone behind him asked:

"Sorry, are ye Arthur Woodenworth?"

The man behind him was as tall as a building and as broad as a carriage. He had a longish, brown hair falling on his face raggedly, a beard at least three inches long and small, round, shiny eyes looking at him from behind his bushy eyebrows. But it wasn't his appearance that made Arthur scared. It was his smell. Smell not distinguishable to a human, but Arthur recognized it immediately. That's how monsters' blood smelled. That man reeked of death.

He was a hunter.

Arthur reacted in a split second. He turned on his heel, dancing between the guests sprinted towards a massive window overlooking the Big Ben, took a leap above their heads and smashed through the glass, falling six floors to the ground, with the enormous man shouting "He's running!' behind his back.

Arthur's cut the distance of fifteen meters between him and the street and smashed to the ground, landing like a cat, only with a powerful bump and a loud crush. His face twisted. God damn it was that painful. The shattered glass fell everywhere around him, cutting his skin like shrapnel. "Doesn't matter. It will heal."

"Jesus Christ, mate" said a beggar, leaning on a wall of the building a window of which Arthur has just jumped out of. "Ye alright?"

Arthur didn't take time to respond to him, but instead started sprinting towards Thames, hoping to lose the unwanted tail. He only managed to run for about a second, though, since a big net suddenly fell seemingly from nowhere right on him. It tangled up around his hands and feet, causing him to fall to the ground.

"I got him!" yelled someone with a voice of an older gentleman somewhere above him.

Arthur twisted his entire body and took a glimpse at the entrance to the building he was running away from. The three hunters were crossing the threshold and running towards him. With no time to do anything else, Arthur had no choice, but to reveal his nature. We focused and summoned his right hand, which suddenly overgrew with thick, red pelage with his fingernails turning into long and sharp claws. With that he cut through the net like it was nothing and managed to get himself off the ground before his pursuers got to him.

"Ah, never mind. I didn't get him" said the man on the roof.

"Get the cuddies!" yelled the tall, bear-looking hunter.

Arthur simply ran.

"Was this it?" he wandered, as his sprinted between the alleys of London, gazing upon the starry sky. "Are they going to catch me and kill me?" He felt a single tear running through his cheek, cutting it in half like a slash of a sword. "Not fair" he said to himself.

"NOT FAIR!" he shouted into the moon.

His breath was getting heavier, sweat appeared on his forehead and his feet felt like they were about to fall off. And yet he ran, between outraged people, between buildings, on the main street, jumping over carriages and into some small alleys again. He could always barely hear their horses, smell their clothes, feel the danger at the tip of his fingers. They were good. He couldn't outrun them.

He was running out of options.

Dashing between buildings and houses, at some point he lost track of where he actually was. He was stopping dead in his tracks, trying to remember the layout of the city, but in the end he always chose a random direction. This proved ineffective in the end, when he ran into a street and decided to catch a breath, only to realize, that the hunters were just a hundred meters from him.

'There he is!" shouted the woman and they started riding towards him.

They screamed some more things, but Arthur didn't listen. He hopped into the first alley he saw and once more lost himself in the maze of little streets.

Weirdest things come to your mind when you're about to die, he noticed. His first drink. First time he had bed a woman. Moment he realized he was a monster. That one time he ate an entire goat. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live so badly.

And then, he made one, final mistake. He run into a corner and encountered a dead end. He stopped, looking at the solid wall bewildered. He ran his fingers alongside the brick wall, as if trying to find some hidden switch that could save his life. But no. Just a regular wall. Just as he was about to turn, he heard the sound of hooves hitting stone street. They've found him.

He couldn't help but laugh. He was done for.

He freed his inner self from the cage he himself had created. His entire body was slowly growing red fur, both of his hands had an inch long claws, his teeth got sharp, and he felt ten times stronger. It was hurtful. He heard his bones crack, and his finest clothes tear, he could almost see his eyes turning from human to wolfish. At that moment he was the monster these people were looking for. He wasn't going to give up easy. Oh no. Not him.

And when the first horse turned from around the corner, Arthur didn't hesitate. He jumped forward, took the young, blonde hunter by the neck, and before anyone could do anything, he jumped back to where he was a second ago. The man screamed, hunters screamed, Arthur growled. He locked his arm around the young man's chest, and gently put the claw of his index finger on his throat. The man stopped struggling the moment he felt the claw on his pale skin. The other hunters got off their horses.

"That was a dumb idea" said the woman in a condescending whisper.

"Shush" said a man Arthur didn't recognize – an older man with a pair of round glasses on his nose – he assumed, that was the hunter that threw the net on him.

"Stop right there!" cried out Arthur with his animal-like voice to the three hunters slowly approaching him. "Stop, or I'll kill him, I swear!"

They listened to him. The gigantic one, with small eyes, turned to his companions and whispered a few words. After a while the two of them started slowly backing off. The tall one put his hands in the air.

"Arthur" he said gently.

"LET ME GO!"

"We..."

"LET ME GO OR I WILL KILL HIM! I SWEAR! I SWEAR TO GOD! I WILL NOT HESITATE!"

"Fucking wanker!" said the hunter that Arthur was holding.

"Haud yer wheesht, Michael!" – said the tall, Scottish hunter. "And you keep the heid, Arthur. We just want to talk."

Talk?

"Talk? Are you joking? You want to talk now?"

"Oi. That entire situation is a wee-bit your fault, now int it? You defenestrated yerself before I could even say a bloody word."

Well... he wasn't wrong. Arthur tried looking into this man's soul, but he just couldn't quite figure him out. He was being gentle. Maybe it was a trick? Why did they follow him if they just wanted to talk? What was happening?

"I can smell the stench of blood on your, hunter."

The tall hunter stopped, a shadow ran through his face. He smiled gently.

"Aye. I've killed my fair share of beats. I ain't sorry, if that's what you askin' about; they were cunts. Are you a cunt, Arthur?"

Arthur looked at himself, holding a young man with a claw to his throat, threatening him with death. A slight chuckle burst out of this throat.

"I have no idea. What do you think?"

Similar chuckle came out of the hunter's throat. Both the hunter and the beast stood like that for a second, laughing at the joke.

"Yee, very fucking funny" said the blonde hunter.

"Listen, Arthur" said the tall hunter, slowly taking off his coat, "We're not armed. See? Check Michael, if you want. No guns. I swear."

Arthur didn't move at first, considering hunter's words, but decided to test them in the end. He took the finger of the young man's throat and allowed his hand to go back to normal. He started exploring his body with his fingers, looking for any sign of weapons, but the enormous man was telling the truth.

He slowly let go of the young hunter named Michael. The blond man immediately jumped forwards, as if of fear of being caught again, and only then he allowed himself for a bit of breath. The gigantic man approached him and put his hand on his arm.

"You fine, you braw bastard?" he asked with a genuine concern in his voice.

"Ye."

"Good. Now as far as you're concerned."

Arthur put one finger in the air, exhaled sharply and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled the air slowly. And then again. And again. With every exhale he was becoming more and more human, until finally he came back to being his usual self. He opened his eyes. Four pairs of eyes we staring at him.

"So... you don't want to kill me?"

"No."

"Well, that's a bit awkward now, isn't it?" Both him and the tall hunter smiled again. " Why were you chasing me then?"

"Well, because you were running. Right, right, sorry, enough with the bloody jokes. We've got a contract on your head. Let me finish! Jesus fuckin' Christ, don't get all jumpy. I said we're not gonna hurt you. Somebody, and no, before you ask, we ain't gonna tell you who – Somebody saw you hunt and eat an entire deer in the woods. You were your more hairy self at this time."

"Yes, I remember this hunt."

"Aye, so, the person saw that you're a beast, they pulled a few strings to get the best hunters in England, lo and behold, that's us, ye? Unfortunately for that person, we're not heartless bastards. We do not kill humanimals before we make sure they're bad people. And you're not bad people. That's the good news for you. Bad news is, that person still knows you're a beast. And if we're not gonna smite you, they're gonna hire someone who will."

It would probably be a lot more to take in, had it not been for a fact that ten minutes ago Arthur was convinced he was about to die. So he just looked at the hunter, and asked:

"So... what now?"

"Now you gonna give us that shiny you got around your neck. We'll give you twenty four hours to pack up and fuck off somewhere, and then we'll show that necklace as a proof we've killed you. They think you're dead, you live, we get the money, everyone's happy."

Arthur stood there, analyzing hunter's words. Leave London? He lived here almost fifteen years. He made it it's home. And now he's being forced to leave?

He looked into the sky. He liked London's sky.

"It's not fair" he said. "I've been a good person. Never hurt anyone. I worked hard for the life I have. And now some twat is going to take it away from me, because they saw me eat a fucking deer. To hell with it."

Yet again he felt tears running down his face. We clenched his fingers into fists. Not fair.

"Still, wherever you go, gotta be better than a graveyard, eh?"

Yes, but still, he never did anything wrong. He heard of other people touched with illness of the moon. Humanimals, werewolves, wildmen, whatever people call those like Arthur, were not considered... real. Beastmen were nothing more than scary stories told to misbehaved children, false monsters hiding in the dark. Mere stories. That's what he believed up to a certain point.

Funny thing that was. Once he became a creature of darkness an entirely new world has opened itself to him. In a spark of a moment, like by a touch of a magic wand, suddenly none of it was just fairytales. Just like that humanimals, demons, ghosts and other monsters were real. And surprisingly easy to find when you're one of them. When you know where to look.

And many of the half-humans give in to their beastly nature. The family of humanimals who took him in were just like that. Savage. Killing innocent without reason, other than the sheer fact of "being monsters". They thought their nature defined them, while they were defining they nature and never bothered to realize that. But he was different. He chose to be human. Never killed an innocent, never tasted human blood. And yet he still had to pay the price of fate bestowed upon him against his will. Not fair.

Arthur closed his eyes. Who even cared? He might as well run. Sky was the same everywhere in the world.

"The necklace won't be enough" said Arthur and reached for his pocket. "This is my father's pipe. Everyone knows I keep it with me for good luck. If you show it to that person, they're going to believe you."

The hunter came up to him at gently took the pipe from him. He looked at it, nodded and put it in a pocket of his coat.

"Cheers. We'd better go now. Good luck with the rest of your life, Arthur."

"Wait."

"Yeah?"

"I... who are you? I know he's Michael, but the rest of you lot?"

"Why do you care?"

"In a weird way you saved my life, didn't you? I want to remember you better."

The three hunters now all stepped forward upon hearing those words. The older gentlemen was smiling to Arthur wildly, the woman had sort of a smear on her face, and the young blonde, Michael, still seemed pissed.

"Fair enough. Michael you know. That fair lass is Jena, the older bloke is Anthony, and I'm Jacob."

"Michael, Jena, Anthony, and Jacob. Thank you. Honestly. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise" said Anthony.

"Try not to waste it, eh?" asked Jena.

"Once again, good luck, Arthur. May God bless you."

And then they got on their horses and drove away, leaving him be.

Arthur stood there, not knowing what to do with himself. He didn't have enough patience to look in the sky again, and not enough stamina to go anywhere, so he just sat on the ground, resting his back on the dead end he was trapped by.

"Heh" exhaled briefly. "God?" he asked himself quietly. His blue eyes turned yellow for a split of second, letting his wolfish nature be known to the world once again. "Do I really look like someone who has God on his side, Jacob?"

Funny how when you're a human, people around tell you stories about monsters, who will come and snatch you in the night; and while you're a monster, creatures of darkness send whispers among themselves about big, bad hunters, who come with their shiny knifes and loud revolvers and kill you and your entire family because of a curse you've never even chosen. How beastmen frighten their children with fairytales of hunters with their coats, and their guns, and the unforgivable stench of the monster blood. Well... those parts were true, but... Apparently, just like there were good people among monsters, there were also good people hunters.

How did the limerick go?

"So hide your claws and show your skin

Remember to look just like them

Or big bad hunter will come

And he will kill you dead"

Mere stories yet again.


	2. Dead Men Of Hullbeck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunters are approached by an undertaker from a small town named Hullbeck - he claims people in the town can't die properly anymore, waking up hours after their death. The Hunters take the job, despite the man not being able to pay them a single dime.

After an entire day of travel they finally saw a small town, and, more importantly, a tavern. Following a short discussion, abruptly ended with Jena shouting "I want a bloody drink!" they decided to go in and spend the night. After all, they just got paid a not-so-small amount for "killing" Arthur, so they could allow themselves to spend some of it on whisky and a cozy room. What was money good for if not spent on pleasures?

So they all stopped by the entrance. Michael took the horses and began looking for a pole he could tie them to, Jena and Anthony went inside to find a table to sit by, and Jacob stayed behind. He approached a wooden sign proclaiming, that the name of the tavern was "Under an Old Hag" and reached for his pocket, grabbing a small necklace in the shape of a goat's skull in his fingers, hanging it on the sign. It was a sign for all the townsfolk that hunters were in town. Good way of getting some new clientele. Everywhere they went, hunters all around the country would leave signs such as these in case somebody really needed something dead and was in need of a hunter.

And although Jacob did hang the hunter's symbol, since the generally known principle reads that hunters were always in desperate need of money, deep down he was hoping that, just this once, no creature of darkness was lurking around in the proximity of five miles.

*

The bar was almost full. And no wonders, it was the end of the week, people got paid, so they went and spent it all on alcohol. The bartender was a short, pleasant Irishman, who was more than happy to see four more faces in his establishment. They paid for four rooms next to each other and for a couple of bottles of whisky, and heard him talk about the little town for a couple of minutes, before they managed to find a small, empty table and squeeze themselves in the chairs, after Jacob went upstairs to leave all of their weapons, apart for revolvers, in his room.

After hours spent on simply talking about life and drinking, the subject of their last hunt was brought up.

"I wonder what will become of Arthur" said Anthony, while pouring himself another drink.

"He'll be fine."

"I'm sure you're right, Jacob. He was a resourceful young man. Cunning, smart, full of life. And he managed to overcome his beastly nature. Many try and fail."

"All I can remember is that fucking claw up my throat" declared Michael, rubbing his hand on his gorge.

"Well, yes, he did overreact when he threatened you... Although I would argue he was justified."

"Ye think that was an overreaction? Not when he threw his galoot arse out of the window?"

"Oh, yeah, fuck, that was brilliant" announced Jena while gulping on an entire whisky bottle. "I honestly didn't see that coming."

"Reminded me of that hobgoblin you kicked out the window in Glasgow back in the day, Jacob" said Anthony.

"That wasn't me. It was Jack."

"Was it now? Yes, of course. My memory is like a sieve these days."

"Bloody Jack. Loved that man."

"I miss him too."

"We should visit him next time we're in Manchester."

"Definitely. His son is what, six now?"

"'Bout that."

"Not many hunters get to have a family. He was great at the art, but I'm happy he managed to get out of it."

"To Jack and his family" proclaimed Jacob, raising his cup.

"To Jack and his family!" shouted Anthony, taking a large sip out of his glass.

"Jesus Christ, you two old twats are fucking unbearable when you're drunk" complained Jena, while standing up. "Now, if the three of you don't mind, I'm gonna go up to this lovely lady by the bar and try to shove my nose up her arse by the end of the night. Wish me luck."

"Good luck" complied Jacob.

"Wait, what? Ye just gonna leave me with them?" asked Michael with a voice full of revolt.

"Have you seen 'er bum, Michael?"

Michael stretched his entire body, trying to take a glimpse at the woman's buttocks.

"Aye, fair enough."

"Besides, look at all those lasses in 'ere, boy. What happened to your natural charm, eh? You're a hunter. Hunt."

And she walked away towards the woman by the bar. Michael looked at her back for a second or two, and he too stood up.

"She's right, damn it. What do I have to lose?"

"Virginity?"

"Fuck off, Jacob."

Jacob and Anthony were then left alone with their giggles. Jacob finished the glass of whisky he was holding in his massive hands, put it on the table and said:

"I won't argue against being a twat. But old?"

"I think thirty seven constitutes as old these days."

"And what does a young twat look like these days?"

"Don't ask me, Jacob, I haven't seen one in twenty years."

They both chuckled and filled their glasses again. Some man by the bar shouted "God save the Queen!" so naturally everyone raised their glasses yelling "God save the Queen!" back.

Needless to say, Jacob was getting insanely drunk.

He and Anthony were downing a glass after glass, talking about politics, the queen, women, guns, women again. They cheered when they saw Jena walking upstairs holding the girl with a nice set of buttocks by the hand, and laughed, when Michael got rejected for the third time. When he was talking to a forth girl, Jacob smiled and told Anthony:

"That lad is bloody hopeless. Give me one minute."

"I will stay right here."

Jacob stood up, took a glass filled with whisky in his hand and, staggering, he came up to Michael and the girl he was talking to and loudly announced:

"Oi! Michael! I still haven't thanked ye for that bloody werewolf you blasted off! Ye saved my life back then!"

"What werewolf?" whispered Michael, but was outshouted by the girl excitedly yelling:

"What werewolf?"

"Didn't he tell you, lass? It was a week ago, Black as the Earl of Hell's Waistcoat! I came to this little hut, auld galoot that I am, and there was a big, scary fucking werewolf inside!"

"How big?!"

"Like ten bloody feet! And it was all black, with red eyes, I tell ye, I shat myself. I thought I was done for, but then this belter bastard kicked the door in with a shotgun in hand, and BAM!" shouted Jacob, hitting his hand on the counter as hard as he could. "BAM! And then he took out his revolver and BANG! BANG! BANG! There was blood fucking everywhere! That man right here is a hero, ma'am! If not for him I would be pissing of the age of some hellish pit right now."

"Oh, really? You're so brave, Michael."

"Eeer... Yeah. Yeah. You're welcome, Jacob."

Jacob squeezed the drink he was holding into Michael's hand, winking at him and giving him a powerful tap on the back, before he came back to the table. Anthony looked at him with a jolly spark in his eyes and a wide smile.

"Poor girl."

"Nah, he didn't drink that much, he'll be up to the challenge."

"Speaking of, do you fancy another drink?"

"Ney. Am pure done in. I'm goin' to kip. You should too."

"I will stay a little longer. A good quality whisky in this parts is something of a miracle in it of itself . I want to savour it."

"Ey, suit yerself. See ye tomorrow?"

"Sleep well, Jacob."

"G'night."

He left Anthony alone, crossed the bar, and took the stairs to the first floor. He passed a room which he assumed was Jena's, given the moaning, opened his door, closed it behind him and, without undressing, jumped on the way-too-small bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

*

He was sitting on a chair in a dark room in which the only source of light was a flickering candle. It gave out a pale light which barely illuminated a man sitting in front of him. He was wearing a very nice and expensive-looking suit, but his face was covered in shadow. The man was playing with a golden coin, spinning it between his fingers. Judging by his body position, he was looking directly at Jacob.

"Evil" whispered something from the darkness.

"No, he's good" whispered something else.

"Bad."

"He's trying!"

"Casted out!"

"Not his fault!"

Jacob looked out of the window. It was dark, but there wasn't a night outside. The sun was simply black. There was a child screaming. Or was it goat's bleat?

"Traitor!"

"Redeemed."

"Murderer!"

"No, a killer!"

The man flipped the coin to the air. It landed on the table, next to the candle, and started spinning, showing the symbols engraved on it. It had a protestant cross on the observe and a reversed cross on the reserve. Jacob waited patiently, very curious on which side would the coin fall, but it seemed like it was going to be spinning forever.

Accompanied by the clatter made by the coin dancing on the table, the man slowly stood up, resting his palms on the chair's arms. He was rather thin and quite tall; not as tall as Jacob, obviously, but he could hardly be called a short man.

He stood over Jacob, his face still covered in shadow. In the darkness his eyes started slowly pulsing with a pale, orange light, reminding Jacob of a fireplace going out. Then he started slowly leaning towards him. Closer, and closer.

And just as Jacob was about to see his face...

*

Knock on the door. He woke up. He ran his hand through his face, sat on the side of the bed and glimpsed at the window. Sunrise.

Someone knocked on the door again.

"WHAT?!" yelled Jacob. Louder than he intended.

"Err... excuse me, sir Hunter? There is someone to see you."

Someone to see him?

He stood up, sniffed himself, making sure he didn't reek of alcohol too bad and came up to the door, opening them. The Irish barman stood in front of him.

"Who?" asked Jacob.

"I don't know him. He said he saw the hunter's sigil you've hung outside. I thought you would like to talk to him."

"Ye, you were right. Cheers. Tell 'im we'll be right down, eh?"

"Of course, sir."

And he left him alone. Jacob yawned, went back to his room, took all the weapons belonging to him and his companions and left, not bothering to lock the door behind him. He took a step to the left and came up to the door next to his. He knocked loudly.

"WHAT?!" yelled Michael from the outside.

"Work" responded Jacob.

The door opened. Michael stood within the frame, wearing only trousers.

"What work?"

"Come downstairs, we have a client. Is the lass still there?"

"No, she left. And thanks for that show you pulled off."

"No worries. Here, take it" he told him, handing him his single-barrel shotgun. "And put some clothes on."

"Ye, sure. See you in five."

And he closed the door. Jacob knocked on the door to his right.

"Come in, please."

Anthony was sitting on the edge of his bed, fully clothed and with book in his hand. He looked at him through his round glasses.

"Pleasure to see you, Jacob. I see you have my weapons."

"Yeah" said Jacob, leaning Anthony's rifle and sabre by the wall. "There's a..."

"I heard you talking to Michael. I will be right down. If you don't mind me noticing, friend, you look awful. How do you feel?"

"Ma heid's loupin' like a fucking church bell, cheers for askin'."

"Get a glass of water with a lemon once you get down, will you?"

"Will do" responded Jacob while leaving.

From the inside of the last room he heard muffled giggles and a bad cranking. He knocked on the door softly.

"Yeah?" asked Jena after a moment of awkward silence.

"Work" answered Jacob through the closed door. "We see each other downstairs in five minutes."

"Errr... yeah, it might take me a bit longer than that" she answered, and she and some other voice giggled again.

"Suit yourself, we'll start without ye. I'm taking your howdah with me."

"Yeah, right."

He opened his coat and slipped Jena's howdah into his inner pocket. He checked if his axe is in its holster by the belt, did the same with the revolver and grabbed his shotgun by the forearm, so that it was easier to carry. Even though his double-barrel was a massive weapon, it still looked like more like a wooden toy in Jacob's hand.

Jacob went downstairs. At this hour the bar was completely empty. The tables looked freshly cleaned, the bottles behind the counter were re-stocked and the door was open, letting in pleasant, warm-ish March breeze. The only person inside, apart from the barman cleaning a tall glass, was a man sitting by one of the tables next to a wall. Jacob came to the counter and asked for a glass of water with a lemon. He then looked at the Irish barman and pointed his giant finger at the man by the table, asking a wordless question. The Irishman nodded. Hunter took his glass of water, approached the table, and asked:

"Are you expecting me, sir?"

The man twitched, stopped looking at the table's counter and gazed on Jacob. He was an older gentleman, around fifty, with an emaciated, rough face and big, round eyes, which looked like they had a spark of life in them at some point. He was thin, but quite muscular, and his hands had more blisters than Jacob could count. Judging by all of this, and his torn, dirty clothes, Jacob concluded that the man must've been someone who worked hard his entire life and had almost nothing to show for it. He had dedication and maybe even purpose once, but reality hit hard and he must've abandoned his dreams in pursue of money, so that he could live to see another day. Sad life.

"Judging by the weapon in your hand you are a hunter. So yes. I am expecting you. Please, sit down."

Jacob complied. When he sat down he heard steps behind him. It were Anthony and Michael coming to the meeting. They both nodded at the man and Anthony asked:

"And where would Jena be?"

"She'll be late" answered Jacob.

"I see."

They both sat down by the table. The man looked a tad intimidated, so Jacob started, by saying:

"I'm Jacob Harington, this is Anthony Richards and Michael Davidson. We have another member of our group, but she'll be late."

"Pleasure" answered the man. "My name is Christian Charles. I saw the sign outside yesterday, and I was wondering entire night if I should come to you people... But uuuh... You might be just what I need."

"So, please, tell us what this is all about" encouraged him Anthony.

"Right. I would offer you gentlemen a drink, but uuuh... I can't afford it."

"It's fine, I'm done with alcohol for at least a week" complained Jacob.

"I uuh... come from a small town up north from here. Hullbeck. It has no more than four hundred people, everyone knows everyone, and so... Everyone knows that something weird has been happening for the past year. People stopped dying."

Three hunters looked at each other. All of them noticed the rest were as confused as they were.

"I mean... this is 19th century" said Michael slowly. "People don't die as often anymore."

"That's not the... uuuh... point. Perhaps I said that wrong. They do die, but then they come back. They are dead for a while, and then they are alive again."

"Continue, please" said Anthony, suddenly looking very interested.

"Well, it started around a year ago, like I said. I'm an undertaker there and I was called to collect the body of our mayor's father, Mr. Gregory. So I went there with my apprentice, Juliet, we took the body, which was, you know... uuuh... dead. And then, in the morgue, Mr. Gregory suddenly went back to life."

"How long was he dead for?" asked Jacob.

"Half a day."

"Is it possible you just made a mistake?"

"No. He had no pulse, the blood wasn't flowing, his skin went pale, he wasn't breathing. He was dead, I tell you. Dead. And then he wasn't. And then it happened again with Ms. Rowsy, and then with that little boy from the Towley house. And then six more times. Everyone who died for the past year has soon came back to life."

"Do they act any different?"

"No. They came back and were normal. Maybe a bit more grim, but who wouldn't be after dying? But no, no, I didn't notice any difference."

"How come no one ever called for someone to investigate it before?" asked Anthony.

"Not everyone believes it's true. They just think it's a funny coincidence. And those who do, they uuh.... They see it as a miracle. They think townsfolk are being resurrected by angels."

"What do you think?"

"I think that... uuuh... Honestly, I don't care" admitted Christian Charles shrugging. "I decided to speak to you, because I am running out of money. I'm an undertaker and people haven't been dying for a year now. This means I haven't been paid for a year" he explained with bitterness in his voice. "I've had some savings that I wanted to use to get out of town, but I had to spend them to survive. I'm on the verge of starving to death. I need this resolved."

Jacob leaned back on his chair, observing the man carefully. He understood him completely.

"This means just one thing" said Jacob. "You won't be able to pay us."

"Well... uuuh... Yeah. I won't. But the city mayor will. If you can convince him that there is something shady going on he won't have much of a choice, now, will he? Don't we pay taxes so that the crown could pay you for your work?"

"You do, but officials tend to pocket that money" explained Anthony. "It's safer for us to accept private contracts."

"Well, I can't force you into anything, now, can I? You're the ones with guns. But to me this seems like a job opportunity for you, and a chance to get my life back for me. And, let's be honest. Dead are coming back to life. If the Sunday masses taught me anything, it's that everyone dies at some point. So this whole mess gotta be against the Big Guy's will. You explain that to the mayor, he'll pay you anything you want."

"We'll be lucky if he pays us half of what we want" stated Michael, leaning back on his chair.

"Money is money. At least you have a job. If you take it, that is."

The three hunters looked at each other, asking one another a silent question. Michael nodded his head slightly, and Anthony made a gesture of hand towards Jacob, leaving the decision to him. The giant hunter glimpsed at the undertaker and asked:

"What's the way to Hullbeck?"

And a second later they heard steps from upstairs. Jena and the woman she slept with came downstairs, talking. The girl blushed, hugged Jena, said a few more words and started leaving. The huntress smacked her on the buttocks, laughing, and said her goodbyes. She then noticed the table where her colleagues and the undertaker were, approached them, sat by the table and asked:

"What did I miss?"

*

"How was the lass then, eh?"

"Very fine, Jacob, cheers for askin'."

"Ye, but tell me a bit more."

"What, you want a taste you old bastard? Jealous you couldn't have joined us?"

"Ah, bagger off. Was just curious."

"Fine, I'll tell you. Very gentle, shy, kinda frisky. Tasty cunt. She did surprisingly well, given that I was the first woman she slept with."

"And you, Michael? What about yer girl?"

"She was fine."

"Details."

"What the hell do you care, bovver boy? Couldn't you find your own girl instead of bugging me and Jena?"

"Firstly: no, I was so drunk I wouldn't even been able to get my pecker up; Secondly: Being good in bed takes both practice and knowledge. I treat this like a lecture."

"Nah, you're just a typical Scottish eejit that likes to talk about bums." said Jena.

"No arguin' with that."

They were riding for about twenty minutes at that point. Christian Charles explained them in detail how to get to the village and how to get to the mayor's house and rode first, in order not to rise any suspicion amongst the locals. He didn't want anyone to know he was the one to call for hunters, so they waited four hours before following his footsteps.

"Can we, for the love of God almighty, change the subject?" cried out Anthony. "Need I remind you we're on a job?"

"Ease up, Anthony."

"Jacob, my friend, you know that I enjoy both sex and conversations concerning it as much as everyone, but we need to come out as professionals. Therefore I once again ask all three of you to focus on the job."

"Don't drag me into it" asked Michael.

"He started it" said Jena.

"So, let's get back to our previous conversation. Is it just me, or did it sound like dark magic?" said Jacob out loud, respecting Anthony's wish.

Everyone went silent for a moment, considering their answers. Hooves of their horses made thumbing noises while hitting the stone road, the wind was dancing between the trees alongside said road, and the sun was high up in the sky, burning their skin mercilessly. Jacob looked at the star, cursing it. He couldn't wait for the temperature to drop again.

"Yeah. Not much else that can bring dead people back to life" answered Jena, putting an end to silence. "A vampire would turn them into ghouls, too old to be virgins. Apart from the boy."

"Maybe it's wood imps?" wondered Michael.

"If they died close to the forest an imp could find the body, yeah, but you heard the undertaker. They're acting normal. If a wood imp were to take the body they would act savage" said Jacob.

"Black magic seems the most probable" claimed Anthony. "Question is, which type? Necromancy is complex and can be achieved through multiple means. Now that I think about it, it doesn't even have to be a necromancer. A skilled puppeteer would suffice."

"Why would a puppeteer bother to control dead bodies when he would have an entire village of people, though?" asked Jena.

"I never understand why any of them controls anyone. Magicians have their own twisted reasons."

"I would bet for a mank necromancer" announced Jena.

"Me an' aw" said Jacob.

"Ye" added Michael.

"Very well. Now let's take all the types of necromancy into consideration. Could be the blood deal, conscience transfer..."

"I think it's wicker soul."

Everyone turned to Jena, who said those words. She looked at them, confused, and mumbled:

"What?"

"You sound deid sure" explained Jacob.

"Well... I dunno, just makes sense. If what the undertaker says is true they don't seem to be controlled or under the influence of the caster. Unless the necromancer influences them to just be themselves. Doesn't really make sense."

"What would be the point of crafting effigy for strangers, though?" asked Michael.

"Beats me. Maybe they're not strangers."

"Ey, is that it?" exclaimed Michael.

They turned and saw the town of Hullbeck. It seemed opposite of impressive, and didn't really stand out. From the distance they could see broad roads, tall, brick houses and townsfolk walking back and forth without much energy. After a minute they found themselves on the brink of the town and they could breathe in its atmosphere. The place seemed rather cheerful. From up close the houses turned out to be really nice looking, made of bright, orange brick, with a variety of plants and lushes growing by them and climbing alongside the walls. People, despite not looking very energetic, looked satisfied, with pale, thin smiles on their faces, talking to each other, laughing, not really hurrying anywhere. What really caught Jacob's eye were literal hundreds of lamps hang everywhere there was an inch of place for them. It was middle of the day, so they weren't lit, obviously, but during the night the streets must've looked beautiful.

There wasn't much happening, so they didn't have to worry about running anyone over, but because of that they did certainly gather attention. People were glimpsing at them from the windows and stopping on the street in order to take a good look at them, pointing at the hunters and asking each other questions in whisper. They were a real attraction. So much so, that they couldn't ride fifty feet into the town without hearing a sharp whistle behind them.

"Oi, you there! Stop!"

And so they stopped. People around got even more interested and stopped as well, watching the show. A policeman who halted them came up to their horses with an uncertain expression on his face and asked:

"Who are you lot and what's your business here?"

Jacob couldn't help but notice bobby's finger brushing a revolver behind his belt. Why were they never calm is situations like this?

"We're hunters, officer" answered the giant hunter shortly. "And we're on a job."

"Hunters?" asked the policeman. His finger slid off his gun. He seemed gobsmacked, looking at them with confusion and surprise shining in his eyes. "Here? What for?"

"That's our business, I'm afraid" said Jacob.

"Although, if you could point us to the mayor's residence, we would be grateful" added Anthony.

The policeman looked at them with suspicion, considering what he should do, but it looked like he couldn't find any reason to tell them to go to hell, so he pointed north and said:

"That way, at the end of the main street. The three story building. Are those weapons loaded?"

"Aye" confirmed Jacob, reluctantly adjusting the shotgun hanging from his back. People closest to him stepped back a foot or two.

"What are you expecting to find 'ere? A shellycoat or a knucker?"

"You know 'em fucking elves, lad" said Jena in a mocking voice. "been pissing into the milk again, we're 'ere to take revenge."

The rest of the hunters chuckled in unison, looking at the policeman with cringe in their eyes. The people around them giggled slightly as well. The cop seemed hurt, and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak Anthony loudly asked:

"Can we go now, officer?"

The policeman looked at him, his face steaming in effort, as if he needed to use the maximum of his will power not to say something he would later regret. He sighed in resignation.

"Yes, citizen, you can. Don't cause any trouble though."

As they called their horses to move, Michael turned to him and said:

"Trouble? Us? Never, officer."

And they rode off, giggling privately.

On their way to the mayor house they passed houses, shops, a pub and what looked like to be a small park, filled with oaks and birches. In the middle of the town the feeling of absolute peace was even more palpable. Jacob looked around, absorbing the friendly atmosphere. Could this place really be a home to a necromancer?

"Come to think of it" said Anthony as they approached they mayor's house, "is the four of us needed to interrogate this man's father?"

"Ye think we should split?" asked Jacob.

"Precisely. The undertaker said that someone by the name of Miss Rowsy was the second person to come back to life, correct? We could find her and talk to her at the same time. It will certainly save some time, since, as I assume, we intend to interrogate all of the victims anyway."

"Ye. Good thinkin', Anthony, as always. Me and Jena gonna talk to the Gregory lad, you two find Miss Rowsy and we'll see if we came to the same conclusions, alright? Let's meet by the park entrance in an hour."

"Sure thing, boss" exclaimed Michael, parodying a salute. "Let's go, Anthony."

Left alone, Jena and Jacob drove to the mayor's house. They climbed down their horses, tied them to a rod near the entrance, and then approached the main door. Jacob knocked on them loudly. They heard some clutter inside, lazy steps and somebody opened the door hesitantly.

A man, around his forties. Tired, in an old suit, lazy, judging by the way his back buckled under the weight of his massive stomach.

"Who are you?" asked the man bluntly.

"We're looking for the town's mayor" avoided the question Jacob.

"You're talking to him. Who are you?"

What an extremely pleasant person.

"My name's Jacob Harington, and this is Jena Doe. We're hunters" explained Jacob slowly, presenting the mayor with a sigil.

A weird shadow run through the man's face as he was shown the necklace. He didn't seem happy to see hunters in his town, but who would be? This was different, though. It seemed as if he expected someone of such sort to show up. He was distressed, but there was no surprise in his eyes. More like... bitter realization.

"What for?"

"People dying" answered Jena shortly.

"Not one person has died here in over a year."

"Yeah."

Bitter realization in his eyes became even more noticeable.

"Christian bloody Charles, am I right?" asked the mayor after a moment of heavy silence. "No, don't answer. Of course I'm right. Come in, please."

And so they did. The ground of his house was old fashioned and cluttered, full of old furniture, ancient rugs and ornaments from all over Europe. Jacob recognized a Polish sabre hanging on a wall, next to German's thirteenth century shield and Spanish military uniform from about a hundred years ago on a coat-hanger. The origin of other items he could not pinpoint, but the corridor was full of them.

"Charles has been bugging me about if for months now" told them the mayor, leading them towards the room at the end of the corridor. "He wanted me to find someone to deal with it. Seriously?, I asked him. You want me to find someone who will help people of my town die?"

"We never confirmed it was him" responded Jacob.

But the mayor either didn't hear him, or pretended not to, and continued:

"But I see he has found someone. Please, dear hunters. I know you're here to talk to my father, the supposed... uuuh... "first victim" as Charles put it. I had to drag this man out of my house by force, can you believe it? Madman."

"So you don't believe it's true?" asked Jena, looking at the man's back.

"No. Of course not. My father simply got lucky. He was ill and then he recovered, that is all. No reason to try and explain it with magic."

"And other people? Miss Betsy? A little boy from the Towley house?"

"People find pattern where they want to, miss. Father?"

The mayor knocked on the door to the room and opened it.

"Father, you have guests."

"Guests?" asked someone with a voice of a very old man. "Who?"

"A pair of hunters, father."

After a moment of silence, interrupted only by Mr. Gregory's loud, sharp breaths, he answered:

"Please, let them in, Marcus."

Mr. Gregory was an old, short man, worn off by life. His skin was hanging of his skeleton like a rug, his eyes were dull, with no bright in them. He was moving slowly, his hands were shaking, he could barely breathe. He was wearing a suit at last two sizes too large and a tall top hat covering his entire forehead. Jacob thought, that calling him a "dead man walking" could be very appropriate, given the circumstances. He looked at them with something that looked like hope.

Hope. Hope was interesting.

"How may I be of service?" asked Mr. Gregory, looking weakly at Jacob and Jena.

He had trouble talking, stretching vowels and needing to catch breath every word or two. He covered his mouth with a fist and coughed powerfully, as if his lungs were about to fall out. No blood though.

"Mr. Gregory Henrich, my name's Jacob, and this is Jena. We wanted to ask you a couple of questions."

The man coughed again, and then nodded slightly, showing them chairs with a gesture of a hand.

"Please, sit down. Marcus, please, bring the gentleman and the lady some tea."

"I... Yes, father."

"Green for both of us" said Jena with a pale smile, looking on the mayor obstreperously. He swallowed his pride and left the room to fetch the tea.

Jena and Jacob sat down on the opposite to the old man. Jacob started the conversation, casually noticing, that Jena was analyzing the room carefully. He knew exactly what she was looking for in the small office.

"Well, Mr. Henrich, I'll be blunt. We heard that you've died."

Expression on Mr. Gregory's face didn't change. He lain back on his massive chair.

"So have I. And yet I live."

"Could you describe that entire incident to us?"

"Well... It was a year ago. I was sitting right here, in my office, reading newspapers and drinking tea. I haven't used it for much else ever since I retired. And as I sat here I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my heart" he said, touching his chest with his right hand. "It was getting more and more painful every second. I collapsed. I.... Uhm. I felt my own heart stop." The pauses for breathing were becoming more frequent. Talking was a massive effort for him. "I stopped breathing. And then, after a blink of an eye, suddenly all my senses started screaming. And so did I. I woke up in my own coffin a couple hours later, screaming my lungs out."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Did you notice anything different after you came back?"

"No" lied Mr. Henrich.

The mayor came back, holding three cups of steaming tea. He put them in front everyone sitting by the table. Jacob was the only one to thank him.

"After you came back, did you have any contact with silver?" asked Jena.

"In what sense, young lady?"

"Did you touch it?"

Mr. Henrich smiled slightly.

"No. I do not own anything silver."

Jena nodded, and reached behind her belt, taking her kukri out of the sheath. She showed it to the man from a safe distance.

"This weapon is highly silvered. Touch it with your finger. Try not to cut yourself."

And she stretched her arm above the table, pointing the blade at the old man. Mr. Henrich hesitated, but slowly reached with his hand and, after a second of consideration, pressed his finger on the silvered blade.

"Argh!" he yelled in pain.

A smell of burned meat soared in the air, as touching the silver burned his finger to the bone. Jacob exhaled sharply. Jena was right. The huntress didn't react at all, looking at the man holding his smoking finger with a cold detachment.

"What the hell?!" yelled his son, nobbling his father from behind the chair. "What did you do?!"

"Nothing" answered Jena. "Hollows do not like silver."

"Hollows?!"

"Did you renovate that room, Mr. Henrich?"

"What?" asked the old man, still looking at his finger in disbelief.

"Did you renovate the room?"

"No... Not in ten years."

"That panel behind you is newer than the rest."

"So what?!" yelled the mayor furiously, still attending to what once was his father.

"Jacob, give me your axe."

Without a word, Jacob took his hatchet out of its sheath and handed it to Jena. She took it, walked to the plank she mentioned, took a good swing and buried the axe between two panels, to then pull the wood out of its place, breaking it into two pieces with a loud crack.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL SANITY ARE... what is that?" asked the mayor, looking at the object Jena took out of their wall.

Between her skinny fingers Jena was holding a small effigy in a shape of a human corpus with a small head-like ball sticking from out from the upper side. She came back to her seat and laid the object on the table.

"That's a wicker soul" she finally answered.

The old hollow took the effigy in his hand, apparently forgetting about the burn, and started examining it. He felt a piece of himself inside of it. He had to. He couldn't quite grasp it though.

"What does it mean?" he asked quietly, looking at Jena with confusion in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry. But Mr. Henrich... The real Mr. Henrich is dead. He's been dead for over a year now."

The mayor and what used to be his father were silent, looking at Jena with anticipation, as if expecting some more information, but after a couple of seconds the younger man became impatient and yelled:

"What do you mean dead?! He's right here!"

"This is not your father" explained Jena slowly, squinting at the old hollow. "Your father is dead. What's sitting on the opposite side of the table is a hollow. A body without a soul." She stopped talking for a minute, to let that information sink in and then continued: "It thinks it's your father, it acts like your father, but it's just an empty shell with a soul made of wicker hidden within a wall of its house that keeps it talking" she said, pointing at the wicker effigy the hollow was holding in its fingers. "The soul of your father has been on the other side for over a year now. This is just meat."

The mayor and the hollow looked at one another, analyzing the information. The younger man shook his head and screamed:

"It's not true! You're lying!"

"What more proof do you need? You see the effigy, you saw it being burned by silver. You want us to shove a knife in its heart? Because we can. It won't die. It can only be put to rest by destroying the effigy."

"Ah" said the hollow. A shallow smile entered his face unexpectedly. "That explains a lot." And when he noticed everyone was looking at him, he gazed on his son and asked: "Please, don't be mad."

He put the effigy on the table, and with a shivering hand reached to his hat and took it off gently. Everyone could now see a giant hole in his temple. A gunshot wound.

"...Dad."

"When you asked me if I noticed any difference and I said that I haven't, I lied. My apologies" explained the hollow, putting his top hat back on. "I did feel... empty. A pesky feeling at first, but over time it became unbearable. It was hard. I thought to myself that... That I'm eighty anyway. It was time to go. So I waited for my son to leave for work, I took a revolver from my desk, put it to my temple and pulled the trigger."

"And you survived" finished his story Jacob.

"Yes. I have. I thought it was a gift from God, but now I see that there is a different and... grimier explanation. I'm sorry, Marcus."

"Dad" said the mayor with tears dripping down his face.

"Come here."

They hugged for a long time. Jacob and Jena decided not to interrupt, when the man and the hollow cried, whispered to each other and cried again. After a couple of minutes the hollow finally let go of the mayor, wiped down his tears and looked at the effigy.

"So... if I destroy it, I will die?"

"Yes."

"You said that... That my soul has been in the afterlife for a year. So what will happen to me after I do it? Will I just stop existing?"

"You never existed" answered Jena shortly.

The hollow nodded, muttering "I see" under his breath. He clenched his fingers around the wicker effigy, as if considering destroying it right there and then.

"Now, to the reason for our visit" said Jacob gazing on the mayor. "This could only be created by a highly skillful or naturally talented necromancer. This person has deliberately brought nine people back to existence as hollows. This is a very deep and dark magic, and, of course, highly illegal to practice."

"You want me to pay you to find who that is, is that it?" asked the mayor, still not taking eyes off the hollowed.

"Do you have any dark magic specialists in the town?" asked Jena sarcastically.

"What do you think?"

"Well then it doesn't look like you have much choice. By the orders of the queen you're obligated to deal with all paranormal through any means necessary" said Jacob, quoting the Act of Hunters from thirteen years ago. "We're the means necessary."

The mayor looked at Jacob angrily. He let out some air through his nose, grimed comically and asked:

"How much do you want?"

"Twenty pounds each."

"Forty pounds?!"

"There's four of us."

"EIGHTY POUNDS?! My town doesn't have such..."

"Pay them, Marcus."

Mayor looked at the hollow and calmed down a little. He grabbed it's hand and kneeled before it, trying to smile, but he failed and only something similar to a grimace came out.

"But what if I don't want to, father? They say that this wizard is bad, but... He brought you back! He gave you back to me! And he gave Towleys their son back! And so many other people! He makes everyone happy!"

"I shot myself in the head, my dear boy" said the hollow, putting his hand on the mayor's cheek. Tears started running from their eyes again. "This existence is pain, Marcus. It's pain. And now that I know how to end it, I will."

"No! No, dad, please, n..."

"I will wait a few days" promised the hollow. "We'll have a proper goodbye this time. But then I'll have to go, Marcus. I'm sorry. I apparently overstayed my welcome anyway."

The mayor closed his eyes and wiped his tears with a back of his hand. Jacob, even though remaining a cold professional, couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. Must've been a terrible feeling, to find out you've been living with a dead man under your roof for over a year. He couldn't show compassion, though. He had to worry about his own livelihood.

The mayor stood up. His hands were shaking. Without looking at them, he mumbled:

"I'll pay you what you want. But after you find him."

"Give us half of it now" said Jacob.

The mayor opened his mouth, but closed it after a quick glimpse at the hollow. He bit his lip.

"Fine. I have to open the safe."

"Don't be bitter about the spondoolies. You write a paper to London and they give it back to you" calmed him Jacob.

"And how long will that take? I was supposed to buy... Forget it. You don't care anyway."

"Not really."

The mayor looked at him as if he was hoping Jacob would drop dead on the spot, then took one last glimpse at the hollow and finally left the room to go and get the money. The hollow grabbed the cup of tea, now cold, and took a sip. He and the hunters exchanged looks.

"Is there anyone with black wounds on their hands in Hullbeck?" asked him Jacob suddenly. "Long, thin scars, black as the night."

"Why do you ask?" returned a question the hollow, sipping on the cold tea.

"Black magic has devastating effects on the person practicing it" explained Jacob, taking his own cup between two fingers. "The wounds look like black leaches runnin' along yer fingers, hands'n'forearms. They corrupt a person so deeply, 'ey even appear on their skeleton. It's easy to identify a necromancer by these marks."

"Oh my God..." exhaled the hollow, nearly dropping the cup. "There was. Alicia Worldbrook. She was a fri... a lover. We had a romance after her husband passed away. She had marks like these. She told me it was a birth defect..."

"There was?" asked Jacob.

"She died ten years ago. Buried in our graveyard."

Jacob looked at Jena and shook his head. Dead lead. The hollow took the last sip of his tea, put the cup on the table and finished:

"Her daughter is still alive, though. Her name is Juliet. She's the undertaker's apprentice. Figure it might lead you to something?"

*

They met with Anthony and Michael in the designated place. The two hunters came up with the same conclusions, finding the wicker effigy in the wall of the house of the older woman they visited. They complemented Jena on basically solving the case before it even started, and then formulated a plan. They all agreed, that they need to talk to all of the victims of hollowing before doing anything else. These people deserved to know what they had become.

And so they did, spending a couple of hours going from home to home, explaining the situation to the hollows and their families, finding effigies, answering questions. It's been difficult. Jacob did his best not to give up his professionalism, but he struggled more and more with every visit. They left going to the little boy's house at the very end. As they all stood at the door, Jacob flat out refused to go inside and inform the child's parents that their son is a walking dead. Anthony was the one to finally volunteer to do it, leaving the rest of the team outside. He stayed in the house for over an hour, and when he finally got out, he looked absolutely devastated. Jacob, as a good friend, pretended not to see the tears Anthony has been discretely wiping off his face for the next half an hour.

When that was finished they needed to confirm that Alicia Worldbrook was, in fact, a witch. In order to do that they headed out to the town's graveyard. They found the gate closed, so they knocked on the undertaker's workshop next to the entrance. Christian Charles opened the door.

"It's you" he stated, standing in the doorway. "So?"

"You were right" told him Michael. A brief flash of satisfaction appeared in the undertaker's eyes. "But we're here, 'cuse we need you to open that gate."

The man did not ask any question at first, silently taking a step back into his workshop. Only after going back inside and walking out with a silver key in his hand, did Charles ask:

"What for?"

"We want to dug up the body of Alicia Worldbrook" answered the question Anthony.

"Juliet's mother?" asked the undertaker in a baffled voice. "What for?"

"We're pretty sure she was a witch" said Jacob. "We need to make sure, though."

"Alicia? A witch? Huh."

He said nothing else, marching up to the gate with the four hunters following his footsteps. The undertaker, muttering something to himself, plunges the silver key into a lock and twisted his hand. The gate opened. Christian Charles threw the key into this pocket, glimpsed at the hunters and said:

"Come on, I'll show you lot where her grave is."

And so they followed him. Christian seemed lost in fought, slouchy, with hands in his pockets, navigating between the graves seemingly without even really noticing where he was going. The silence was finally cut by Anthony, who said:

"You sounded surprised."

"Well...uuh... yes" said the undertaker, snapping out of his train of thought. "Alicia was a great woman. Kind, warm, always ready to help, to listen to you, give advice. Heh, she made wonderful apple pie. If you had told me she was a fairy I would have believed you instantly. A witch, though? I don't know. Doesn't suit her."

"You were friends, then?"

"Not really. Everyone knew her, though. And we loved her. That's why I took her daughter in. After her mum died the poor girl had nowhere to go so I offered her a job. Not uh.... very pleasant one, but a job. I wanted her to get some coin and change the profession, but she sort of... uuuh... stayed. If I didn't know any better I would think that she actually liked the bloody job." He stopped talking, cracked his neck, and slowed down a tad, looking back at the hunters with interest gleaming in his misty eyes. "Now I've got a question, if you don't mind" he said.

"Shoot" encouraged him Jena.

"Even if Alicia was a witch, what of it? She's six feet under for a decade now."

"Children of magically capable tend to have their parents' skill passed on onto them. And if Alicia Worldbrook left her laboratory behind, her daughter would be more then capable of teaching herself black magic on an above average level" explained Anthony.

"You tryin' to tell me Juliet is the one bringing people back to life?"

"That's what we tryin' to find out" told the man Michael.

"Bloody 'ell" muttered the undertaker, taking his eyes off the company of hunters.

They finally approached a stone tombstone. Tall, made of gray rock. The polished plate was squeaky clean, as if cleaned two minutes ago, and overflowing with flowers. Such great was the number of towering bouquets of flowers, that Jacob was half-seriously wondering, if the stone pulpit was going to break under their weight. On the tombstone itself, with golden letters, it read:

HERE LIES

ALICIA WORLDBROOK

1788 – 1843

A MOTHER, FRIEND AND A HEALER

"A healer?" said to himself Michael in a low voice, and then turned to the undertaker. "A healer?" he asked again, louder.

"Was she a doctor?" pushed the question further Anthony.

"No... uuh... a herbalist" answered Christian Charles, shrugging. "A damn good one, though. She was making these mixtures with herbs she grew herself... Once I had a backache painful like hell – one sip of that shit and I felt twenty years younger."

"Juliet's makin' them mixtures too?" asked Jacob.

"Yeah. Not as effective though."

The hunters looked at one another. Their suspicions have basically proven themselves to be true at this point, but since they were already here, they could've just as well open the casket. And so Jacob turned to the undertaker and asked:

"Got any shovels we could borrow?"

*

They removed all the bouquets as carefully as they had patience to. Jacob and the undertaker lifted the grave's stone plate, and Michael together with the enormous hunter started digging in the firmed soil. The undertaker, making a parody of a good guest out of himself, brought them some water and bread and sat on the grass next to the deeper with every minute hole. Jena sat next to him, looking at her friends' efforts with indifference and Anthony stood on the other side of the grave, making chitchat to the two men digging, at the same time eavesdropping at Jena's and Christian's conversation.

"Anything else you can tell us about that whole Juliet?" asked Charles Jena, in a short break she took in chewing the bread.

"What do you want to know?"

"Dunno. Anythin' you find worth mentionin' I suppose."

"She's a good girl. Just like her mum. Caring, supportive, nice. A good friend."

"Friend?"

"Yes, a friend." And after a minute or so of silence he added: "If she really is the one bringing people back, I'm sure she just wants to do good."

"Seems like it" agreed Jena, completely ignoring the fact, that he was the one to invite them into the town in the first place.

"Are you going to hurt her?"

"Not unless she does something really dumb."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Explain the consequences of what she had done. And burn her laboratory."

"And warn her" added Anthony slowly, looking at the undertaker with a flash in his small eyes, "that if we ever have to come back, we will deal with her in a much more straightforward manner."

Charles Christian looked at the old hunter with hesitation. When he understood what Anthony meant by his words, he went pale and opened his mouth slightly, struggling to find a proper response. Something appeared in his eyes, and he began to understand who exactly did he invite into his hometown. Was it regret, maybe? Or simply fear?

Jacob's shovel has hit something hard with a quiet bang.

"Oi, I think I got 'er."

The undertaker watched in silence as the hunters lifted the coffin out of the ground and, in the light of a late afternoon sun, they opened the casket, revealing Alicia Worldbrook's rotten remains. A horrible stench rose up in the air, and Jacob had to cover his mouth with a side of his coat just co catch a breath. All four of them gathered around to examine to body.

"Yeah, there 'ey are, see?" said Michael, pointing at the woman's arm.

"Finger bones, ulna, radius, all the way to the humerus" added Anthony, looking at the long, deep, black marks running through the body's bones.

"What the hell?" asked the undertaker, glimpsing from behind Michael's back. "I thought these were on her skin."

"That's what black magic will do to ye" said Jacob, closing the casket. He straightened his back and turned to Christian Charles, asking "Where does Juliet Worldbrook live?"

*

The sun was setting, glazing bright, orange colours across the canvas of the sky as if gently painted with a stroke of a brush. People of Hullbeck were slowly coming back to their homes from work and coming out of them to the bar. Most of them, upon seeing the hunters, began walking faster, glimpsing on them over their shoulders with either disgust, fear or a mixture of both. Seemed like news spread quickly.

Juliet Worldbrook's house was situated at the edge of the town, near a small forest. It was a small, wooden hut, with square windows and a tall chimney towering on the side. Next to the west wall stretched a large-sized garden full of multifarious herbs, flowers and other plants arranged in ridiculously precise shapes. Inside the house there was flickering a pale light of a single candle.

The hunters drove by the house and climbed down from their horses. Jacob looked at his friends, nodded his head slightly, and approached the door, leaving the rest of the team behind. He checked if he had easy access to the revolver and the hatchet behind his belt, adjusted the way his shotgun rested on his back and knocked on the door gently.

After they opened before him stood a fragile, child-like, young woman. Her straight, golden hair cascaded on her arms, pink lips were semi-open, and giant, round eyes looked at Jacob with a silent question and just a bit of fear. He noticed one more thing. She was wearing gardening gloves. She looked him in the eye, then glimpsed on the shotgun on his back, noticed his fingers levitating around the place behind his belt were the revolver was. She then took a long look at the three hunters fifty feet away.

"Juliet Worldbrook I presume?" asked Jacob.

She looked at him again, crossed her arms on her chest and frowned her eyebrows, staring directly into Jacob's eyes.

"Are you trying to intimidate me, thug?" she asked angrily.

Jacob raised his eyebrows.

"A thug?" he mumbled.

"Don't you dare try to rob me! Get the hell out of here or I'm going to...!"

"I ain't no thug, lass, and you need to calm your arse" cut her off Jacob trying to dodge her irritated hand gestures. "I'm a hunter!"

She stopped waving her arms.

"What does a pack of hunters want from me?"

"To answer a couple of questions."

"No" she answered, and took a step back into her house.

"I wasn't really askin'."

Juliet Worldbrook stopped mid-step. She bit her lip slightly.

"As a token of good faith my mates will stay outwith for a while. Take it."

She sighed with resignation, clearly furious. She stood there for a couple more seconds, waging her options, and finally took another step back, and signaled him to come in with a sharp move of her head. Jacob took a glimpse behind his shoulder, nodded his head to the rest of the hunters and followed Juliet into her hut. The door closed behind him.

The inside of the hut was warm and frowzily. There was a number of herbs hanging upside down from the ceiling giving off a smell of garlic, basil and nettles. The chamber itself was small and crowded, with all the space being taken by a bed, a bookshelf full of books and manuscripts, a square table with a single chair and what looked like a typical herbalist workstation in the corner. Jacob parenthetically gazed on a small rug conveniently covering the floor by the western wall.

"If you're here just to talk what are the guns for?"

"Self-defense."

"Against me?" asked the five foot girl looking at the towering giant with a sarcastic smirk on her face.

"You've been castin' spells ever since you saw us, girl. I've no clue what yer capable of."

The smirk disappeared like a leaf down the drain. She tilted her head a little, taking a step back. Her right hand twitched.

"Don't" warned her Jacob politely. "I'm much faster."

"I don't know what you're..."

"You're a bad liar, Juliet. You knew we were comin', didn't ye? Did the mayor tell you?"

She shut up, took another step back and finally stopped, lowering her head slightly, looking at him with genuinely frightening eyes.

"Why are you here?"

Jacob took a deep breath and let his finger slide off his revolver. Without a word he pointed to a chair by the table with his hand, came up to the workstation and picked up a stool so that he could sit on the other side of the table. When they were sitting, Jacob has put both of his hands on the counter in a friendly gesture and said:

"Juliet, you need to let the dead rest in peace."

Her entire body shivered, her fingers joined together, eyes escaped into the corner.

"I'm helping" she said after a fair bit of time, looking into Jacob's eyes again.

"I know you believe that."

"I don't just believe it!" she yelled suddenly, banging a clenched fist on the table. "I really am! I bring torn families back together! I give people their loved ones back! Is that really that bad, hunter? People not dying?!"

"The problem is they are dying. You ain't savin' no one, Juliet. You're reanimating corpses."

"And what would the bloody difference be?!"

"They're dead. Their souls are on the other side. It's just meat."

"They are with their..."

"Do you know what happens to meat without a soul, Juliet?" asked Jacob harshly, shutting her up. "Did you get into that chapter in your bloody book, eh? Did you? It rots." Juliet's irises widened significantly, but she remained quiet. "After a year or so the magic just isn't enough anymore and they start slowly rotting away, still walking around, mind ye. Breathing, talking slabs of rotting meat, unable to die because of your bloody effigy. Ye really think that's helpin' anyone? Ask the Towleys how grateful they are after half of their boy's face rots away."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" asked Juliet after a minute of silently observing Jacob's face.

"Visit the mayor's father for instance. The greenish marks on his cheeks ain't no age spots. Actually, nah, scratch that. Just look at your hands."

Juliet grinded her teeth and hid her gloves-covered hands under the table.

"These marks; this corruption. Ye really think anythin' good could leave scars like that?"

"I... I don't know. My mother said it's alright. That this is just the price to pay for..."

"For what?"

She bit her lip, frowned, slid down in her chair an inch or two. She looked like she was going through her head, searching for a convincing enough lie. But after a couple of seconds of intense thinking and being stared down by Jacob, she finally gave up, letting out a soft sigh and lifting herself up.

"My mother, she... she loved people. She did, really. Always finding new ways to help. She became a herbalist so that she could brew medicine. Not enough education to become a proper doctor, you see. She was giving up half the money she earned away. Others need it more, she used to say. Still, always looked into new ways of making the world a better place. A good woman, she was. Truly."

"The price to pay for what, Juliet?"

"For the true solution, hunter. When I was seven my grandmother died. We drove all the way to York for the funeral, and then to her house to go through her things. My mother found a hidden switch by the bookshelf. And a whole new world of opportunities has opened before her."

Jacob listened patiently, not daring to interrupt the girl's story. She seemed relieved to be able to finally tell it to someone.

"Horrible, horrible things in those books. Hundreds ways of taking life thirty miles away, twisting people's organs, destroying children in their mothers' wombs. Summoning evil. Making it into a guest inside your own body. But also growing back severed limbs. Curing blindness. And, most importantly...

"Immortality."

"Yes. Yes. 'What is the point of curing them if they're going to die anyway?!' asked my mother, when a girl she pulled back of the edge of oblivion just a month prior winded up dead by some disease. And so she took the books and started studying them. And then practicing them. She found a way of bringing people back using an effigy made of wicker, hair and blood hidden in their home's wall. For eight years she tried and never succeeded. She died. And when she did I promised to continue her work. For selfish reasons at first. I... I wanted her back. But after a week I understood that I could never mater the art before my mother's body decomposed. So I slowed down. Grew patient. Took my time. Mastered other spells from the books as to not grow bored. I continued my mother's legacy."

"And you succeeded."

"I did, yes. When I heard Mr. Gregory died... I knew they were sleeping together. She really did love him, and he loved her. When I saw his body in the morgue I thought to myself that it had to work this time. Just had to. And it did. I'm sure she's proud."

Jacob sighed, looking into the girl's powerful eyes.

He saw people turning into black magic for many reasons. Greed, power, revenge, knowledge, dark desires. Sometimes it was a form of prayer to some twisted gods. Other times...

He once met a young sorcerer, who simply desired for more power. The man went mad, laughed maniacally, chanted spells in a terrible, forgotten language. The tentacles growing from dark portals to some other worlds, horrors gazing upon him from the great beyond, some creature of indescribable shape lurking in the corners of time, looking straight at him, piercing his soul with a cunning and intelligent stare coming from both beginning and the end of everything – memories that kept him from falling asleep at night for all these years - all ended with the young man's skull pierced by a bullet.

The girl was different, thought. Unable to understand the paradox, she tried to use the powers of evil to do good, not realizing the consequences of her actions. She was no villain.

"Did you know that the mayor's father shot himself?"

"He what?"

"He shot himself. Put a revolver to his head and pulled the trigger."

"He's..."

"No. He isn't. He survived that."

She said nothing, looking at Jacob with quiet surprise. Doubt appeared in her eyes, and Jacob was keen on using this opportunity.

"Do you see the problem?"

"I..."

"He wanted to die, 'cuse he felt "empty". Why do ye figure he felt that way, eh? Might have somethin' to do with his soul not being inside his body?"

"I must have done something wrong... He shouldn't have felt that way if I had done everything right."

"Will you show us the lab hidden under that rug, Juliet?"

She thought for a very, very long time, saying nothing. And Jacob allowed her to be with her own thoughts. Finally she proclaimed:

"I will. Invite your peers in."

When Jacob opened the door to the hut Michael, Jena and Anthony stood where he left them and pretended they did not eavesdrop on every single word. They gently went inside just as Juliet pulled the rug away and opened a hatch hidden beneath it.

"Go on" she insisted whilst lighting up a lamp.

After walking down a short flight of stairs they found themselves in a surprisingly large, very well lit, oval chamber. There were bookshelves full of books in leather covers running alongside the wall. Tables and chairs chaotically placed everywhere in the room with tools, books, dead animals, candles and other items lying on the counters, ready for further experiments.

"What are the animals for?" asked Jacob under his breath.

His companions remained silent. Jacob was already the one to have a connection with Juliet. They figured she would only respond to him, so did not bother to speak themselves.

"For a spell that's supposed to grow back severed limbs."

"Right."

He came by one of the dead rats lying on the table. He had four legs, even though one of them was cut off. It grew back on his head. He turned his look away and faced the mysterious books on the shelves. Not all of them were magical. He noticed novels, poetry, cooking recipes. And among them books covered in runes and blood. Reeking of death and sulfur. He dared not to touch them. His companions seemed comparably disrupted, looking around with clear disgust shining in their eyes.

"You see? I'm doing good work. I help people. You needn't have come. I just have to improve my technique and everything is going to be just fine."

Jacob looked at her with sorrow against his better judgment. And in slip second she understood. She took a step back. Her hand twitched.

"Restrain her!" yelled Jacob.

Jena and Michael leaped forward grabbing Juliet by her arms and forced her to kneel. She seemed not to fight this. Anthony grabbed his revolver and pointed it at her head. Juliet looked at Jacob, visibly broken. She was so disappointed.

"What are you going to do to me, Jacob?" she asked softly.

"Nothin'" answered Jacob trying to keep his façade of a cool professional. "You're a good person, Juliet. We're not gonna hurt ye. But the lab gotta go."

"Don't" she said in the same worryingly emotionless voice. "If you do this my mother's life... My life... will amount to nothing."

"I'm sorry, Juliet. Take 'er outside."

The hunters nodded and raised Juliet, forcing her to stand. But before they could make even a step, the girl said:

"I'm sorry too, Jacob."

In a split of a moment her entire body turned into a shadow. She soared between the hunters fingers, landed by the opposite wall and made her body physical again, in order to cast a spell. Her gloves burned away in a split of second as pink lightning appeared around her palms, her mouth exhaled sharply and her finger pointed towards Jacob. There was nothing on her face apart from focus.

Loud bang filled the room. The lighting disappeared from between Juliet's fingers. She frowned her eyebrows, examining her hand. She coughed blood. With confusion clearly visible on her face she turned her head and touched a bullet hole in her left lung. She coughed blood again and turned her gaze onto Anthony. His revolver still had a thin line of smoke coming out of end of the barrel. Without haste she raised her finger in his direction.

Jacob's shot was more precise. His bullet went right through her heart, spraying the opposite wall with a grimy mural of blood. Her body hit the stone behind her and slowly slipped down to the floor.

The hunters hid their weapons away. Jacob hanged his head, approached the nearest table and lain his head on it. His friends looked on each other. Jena made a step forward.

"Jacob, are ye...?"

"GOD DAMNIT!" raved Jacob, kicking a chair across the room. "STUPID FUCKING GIRL!"

He took another chair and smashed it against the wall. His friends said nothing.

"WHY WOULDN'T YOU JUST DO WHAT YOU WERE TOLD?!"

"Because I have a mission to fulfill."

Jacob froze and turned his head towards Juliet's body. The dead girl was looking right at him with a confident smirk on her face. She tilted her head a little, smiled lingeringly and opened her mouth with a loud crack, as if her jaw broke in half. Thousands of mosquitoes began flying out of her throat and roaring across the chamber in circles alongside the walls.

"Fuck, she made one for herself too!" yelled Jena and took a leap behind one of the tables and throwing it into the ground, turning it into a cover.

"Michael! Go, find it!" shouted Jacob, throwing him his hatchet. "We'll hold 'er off!"

Michael grabbed the hatchet mid-air and jumped towards the exit, before the swarm of mosquitoes managed to cut if off. A pink lightning suddenly cut the air with a deafening crack and hit his shoulder. Michael yelled in agony, but still managed to climb the stairs before the insects got to him, leaving a stench of burned meat behind him.

Jacob and Anthony followed in Jena's footsteps and took cover behind the lab's equipment. At this point there was nothing around them but a legion of mosquitos flying in circles with a steady, menacing buzz. Jacob wondered if she was able to command them to attack.

"I didn't want this, Jacob!"

Her voice was cutting through the mosquitos' buzzing. But where did it come from?

Michael was their only hope. She was hollow, so there was no point in shooting her. She could kill them right there and then, but she clearly didn't want the lab destroyed. Jacob and the rest understood, that she will only take a shot if she's certain it'll hit. All they needed to do was to hide long enough.

"I won't let you ruin all of it."

Among the buzzing he heard light steps. A naked foot dragging along the stone floor. He took a gamble and peeked carefully from behind his cover.

Juliet approached the tables one by one, peaking carefully behind them. There was something different about her. She became thinner, her skin grayer, her hair darker. And when she turned her face and Jacob could see her from the side, he almost gasped. From her mouth reached an entire forearm – long, half-rotten, covered in saliva and holding a revolver. The arm seemed to move independently, running the barrel alongside walls, searching on its own.

Jacob hid behind his cover again, closed his eyes and began listening. Her delicate footsteps seemed to approach the table behind which Anthony was ducking. Jacob opened his eyes and turned to where Anthony was, but the place was empty. He has already moved somewhere Jacob couldn't see him.

Despite having an entire arm in her mouth, Juliet had no trouble saying:

"Why wouldn't you just do what you were told?"

Juliet seemed to now be getting dangerously close to where Jena was hiding. Jacob signaled it to her, and she simply nodded, remaining as calm as possible, given the circumstances. She reached for her kukri.

As Juliet peaked from above her cover, Jena extended her arm and spiked her kukri into the witch's throat. Juliet lost balance and Jena jumped across the chamber to a new cover. The arm sticking out of Juliet's mouth turned its gun toward Jena and fired a shot. It missed. Before it could fire another one Jacob grabbed a nearby chair and threw it at Juliet, crushing it on her fragile body. As she buffet to the ground the ghoulish arm retaliated and took a shot at Jacob. The bullet missed his ear by an inch. Juliet rose up from the ground with anger on her face. Pink lighting manifested itself between her fingers.

But she didn't fire. She opened her eyes as wide as she could. The arm has hidden itself within her throat. The mosquitoes vanished into thin air, as if they were never there. She stepped back, took one last, look at Jacob and collapsed onto the floor without making a sound.

Jacob sat on the floor, breathing heavily. Jena approached the body carefully and removed her kukri from it with firm caution. Anthony stood up from behind his cover as well.

"Michael got hit. Go check on him, will ye?" asked them Jacob.

"What about the girl?"

"I will take 'er, just... just gimmie a moment."

They climbed up the stairs and Jacob was left alone in the lab. He allowed himself for a minute of heavy breathing, and then pulled himself together and got on his feet. He took Juliet's body in his hands as gently as he could and lift it up off the ground. She couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds, but he felt as if she were the heaviest object he has ever held. He put her body on the staircase, so that she was lying on her back, and not minding the blood on his palms he came back to the lab. Alongside the countless bottles filled with... things he quickly found a couple with flammable liquids inside of them. He began throwing them around like grenades. The liquid spilled all around the tables, tools, the cursed books. And with each throw he gave a manifest to his own fury.

When he was done he came back to the stairs and took of the lamp Juliet brought off the wall. He lifted her body up with his right hand and with his left he threw the lamp into a puddle of the oil.

Fire began consuming the unholy place immediately.

Jacob couldn't help but not see Juliet as bad person. She did try to kill him and everyone he loved, yes, but she did it to protect what she thought was good. She did turn to the dark, but all she did was try to find the light. All she did was, ultimately, in order to achieve good. He held no grudge.

Upstairs he found Jena and Anthony attending to Michael. His coat and shirt were off and lying on the floor, next to Jacob's hatched and a wicker soul cut in half. A part of his shoulder simply burned off with the lightning strike, leaving a hole in his meat.

"You alright?" asked Jacob.

"Hurts like hell, but I'll live. If she were more powerful though..."

"Glad to see you among the breathing."

"I'm sorry to interrupt" said Anthony "but you might want to look out of the window, Jacob."

Jacob frowned his eyebrows and approached the window, peaking out of it. He sighed heavily. Not looking away, he said:

"Shite."

"Major shitshow, eh?" growled Michael.

"What do we do?" asked Jena, looking at Jacob visibly trying to hide her worry.

"Try not to escalate" answered Jacob.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"We shoot to kill. Can you walk, Michael?"

"Yes."

"Can you hold a gun?"

"Yes."

"Put on yer clothes then. Try not to look injured."

What seemed to be the entire village was waiting for them outside. The residents formed a semi-circle behind the mayor and a line of nine police officers. They were clearly visible because of the torches some members of the mob had brought with them. Nothing but a pitch darkness of night around them.

"Ever read Frankenstein?" asked Anthony gazing upon the welcome committee.

They all left the hut slowly, with revolvers in their hands, with Jena also clinging to her howdah in her left hand and began approaching the people slowly. Whispers heard from the very beginning became stronger and more persistent.

"That's far enough!" yelled the mayor.

And so they stopped. Jacob begun analyzing the situation they were in. Not much hope they could take down all the officers before being killed – besides, it's not like they wished to engage in a shootout with the law enforcements. None of the cops seem too keen on this idea either though. Maybe they will be smart enough to listen to their own reason rather than orders?

"What is this?" shouted Jacob, so that everyone in the crowd could hear him. The whispers stopped.

"The concerned citizens have alarmed me of shots coming out of this hut" explained the mayor shortly.

"And so you gathered a mob?" asked Michael in a sarcastic voice.

"Concerned citizens" insisted the mayor with a pale smile. "Where is Juliet Worldbrooks?"

Jacob looked around his companions and clenched his fingers on a revolver as tight as he could. Here goes nothing.

"She's dead!"

The mob cried out with a force of a hundred throats. Insults, curses, questions. Someone threw a bottle at them, but missed terribly. The mayor seemed not touched by that at all. Taking the advantage of his powerful voice Jacob kept shouting over the mob:

"She attacked me and my folks with wicked magic! She had to be taken down!"

"Wicked magic?" asked the mayor loudly, but he could be barely heard because of the mob. "Juliet?"

"She was a witch! You know that! We showed you proof!"

"Yeah, you showed us the magic that brought our loved ones back! As far as we're concerned it was no wicked magic, hunter! It was a miracle!"

The mob cheered for his words, making it impossible to hear anything but its shouting again. Jacob turned to his companions again and silently asked to keep their weapons down for a little longer.

"You come to our town! You spill your lies about some vile magic! You want us to kill our loved ones! And then you murder our guardian angel! Officer! Arrest them!"

Before the policemen could even reach for their weapons, hunters pointed their guns at them. Man in the shiny uniform, looking like a sergeant, stopped his hand in the middle of the way. Every single cop did the same, eyeing their superior in search of orders.

"Officer, you will do no such thing" told him Anthony pointing a gun at his head."

"You resisting arrest?!" shouted the mayor, red on his face.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen, mayor" grinded out Jacob. "You're going to pay us the other half and let us go on our way."

"Pay you? Didn't you hear? You're under arrest!"

"If you do not, we are going to kill these officers" explained Jacob, as if mayor were a child. The man went pale. "And then you."

The mob suddenly got quieter. And smaller. The policemen dared not to reach for their pistols. The situation reached a stalemate.

"W... Why aren't you arresting them?" the mayor turned to the sergeant, looking at Jacob with a steel look.

"There are five guns pointed at my face right now you blind fool" explained the policeman calmly and without moving an inch.

"Your father agreed to this?" asked Jena suddenly.

The mayor looked at her and crossed his arms on his chest.

"He doesn't understand that all of this was a blessing, not a curse. I took away that figurine of his. He isn't going anywhere."

"Lord almighty, you really are a blind fool" sighed Jena.

"There is no need for bloodshed!" yelled Jacob, hoping to appeal to the sergeant who seemed to be a reasonable man.

He could see the fight inside the cops head. On one hand he was a law enforcer who was given a specific orders and, if he desired not to shame his uniform, he should attempt to carry them out.

On the other hand, there were five pistols pointed at his face.

"She really attacked you?" asked the sergeant, still not taking his eyes off Jacob.

"Yes. Michael, show him yer shoulder."

Michael lowered his revolver and allowed his coat to slide down to his belt. The magic wound was clearly visible in the light of the torches. The man approached them carefully, got close to Michael and examined his wound from a close distance. He then looked at Jacob.

"What's that smoke?"

"Her lab burnin'. You can find the remains tomorrow, it will be yer proof."

"Shouldn't have burn it."

"I got angry."

The policeman closed his eyes and relaxed his hand. And then just turned on his heel. The other policemen and the mayor looked on him baffled.

"What are you...?"

"If I reach for my gun I'm dead. And besides I believe them. Walking corpses? Miracle? Really?"

"YOU ARE GOING TO ARREST THEM OR..."

"Or what? You going to fire me? Good luck with that. Arrest them yourself if you want to, I'm going home. And I advise all of you to do the same. Just pay them."

And then he just left the scene. And after him went around half of the mob, nervously glimpsing over their shoulders. The other policemen looked around confused, glimpsed at the mayor and began following their superiour's footsteps one by one. Jacob noticed that the officer that stopped them on the street that morning was the first to leave. The rest of the mob quickly followed. All but one person.

It was only them now. The mayor and the hunters looked at each other with mutual disgust. With no other options left the mayor reached for his pocket, took out his wallet, grabbed the money he owed them and threw it under his own feet.

"Take it" he said turning around on his heel. "And don't you dare come back" he added, looking over his shoulder.

"Oi! Juliet's body is still in the house!" yelled Jacob behind him.

But the mayor didn't stop walking.

The only person that was in the mob stepped forward. He wasn't mad, furious, nothing like that. He was just sad. He looked at Jacob with nothing but pain in his eyes.

"I'll take it" told him Christian Charles softly. "I'll take her. Just... Please, bring her to me."

Jacob said nothing. He turned, approached the door and opened it. A cloud of smoke hit his eyes.

"God damn it" muttered the enormous hunter to himself and went inside. There was so much smoke he could barely see. Covering his mouth with a side of his coat he negotiated inside the small cabin for a couple of seconds before he noticed the small corpse by his feet. He picked the girl up and took her outside.

"What are you going to do with her?" asked Jacob when giving the undertaker the body of his apprentice.

"I want her buried next to her mum."

"I see. I'm sorry it turned up this way"

"Me too, hunter. She left you no choice, did she? You... You had to? Right?

Did they really? She was not a powerful witch. She shot lightning from between her fingers and hit Michael, but the wound was far from fatal. She couldn't force the insects to attack them. The arm sticking out of her mouth missed its shots every single time. Of course they didn't have to kill her. She looked scary, but upon closer examination she was no threat to them. There were a hundred other ways they could've dealt with her. But their instincts kicked in, their will to live was too strong and they murdered her.

"Yes. There was no other way."

The undertaker nodded, looked at the body with tears in his eyes and walked away without saying anything else.

They collected the money off the ground and left; and dared not to come back.

THE END


End file.
